The Caretaker's Tale
by Son of Whitebeard
Summary: Filch is known to the staff and faculty as a miserly grumpy old man, distrusting to all who comes in his path. But he was not always like this he once was an aspirational figure with hopes and dreams.


The Caretakers Tale

By Mathieu Leader

Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling

Inside the Ministry atrium where congregated hundreds of angry squibs raised with signs which read **SQUIBS SHALL REVEAL YOU'RE SECRET! **At the head of this protest group was a slightly hunched man dressed in a crumpled black pinstripe suit. He had a neatly trimmed brown moustache his dark grey eyes blazed with fevered passion. As the man spoke in a megaphone "Norbert Leach is the first minister of magic whose parentage is that of muggles. A huge stride in the bigoted unchanging community, which witches and wizards come from we thought that his ministry would bring liberty and freedom to Squibs like you and me. However if anything we the ungifted offspring of magic are subjected to ridicule, and discrimination, because of this we are left with no choice but to tell our more obliging neighbours the truth of sorcery!" exclaimed the protest groups leader

"You tell em Filch," muttered a thin redheaded wizard with wire-framed glasses

"Thank you Arthur for being one of the growing civil servants within the ministry who supports our plight to be treated as citizens of the British realm of wizardry." Replied Filch cheerily and laughing

Soon the sea of cheering squibs where parted as many of the squibs that supported Filch fell asleep stumping Filch himself as he turned to face his opponents a tall thin wizard with a pale face who was bald and had a silver goatee his deep blue eyes set themselves upon Filch with unbridled fury.

"Are you Argus Filch the despotic dissident that has been causing havoc in the Capital?" asked the man in a quiet tone which conveyed cruelty for all to hear in the entrance hall.

"Yes," stammered Filch slightly frightened at the imposing powerful official

"My name is Abraxas Malfoy Deputy to the Minister of Magic; I'm here to put a stop to your revolutionary zeal that is inspiring a countermovement of subversion which is making the Minister's job untenable." Grimly announce Abraxas to the now solitary Filch whose supporters slept soundly around him unaware of this intense atmosphere that arose from this confrontation.

"What C-A-N you do Squibs are not subjected to your laws but the law of Muggles?" Filch replied tersely

"Hang on; I thought this gathering was to give equality to you downtrodden wastes of procreation. So if you want equality then it is only right that you adhere to our laws and customs unfortunate for you Mr. Filch you broke the law in regards to public disorder which means a stay in Azkaban the prison for wizards." Abraxas spoke with a stiff curt tone

Filch then said nothing he heard about Azkaban being an impenetrable fortress having been built long ago by warlock chieftains and had some kind of dark curse that lingers over the prison that made whomever who stayed their forever unhappy or worse soulless.

The Undersecretary's assistant was a stocky man with a mane of brown curls with hawkish yellowy eyes dressed in a beige overcoat this man placed his hand on Filches shoulder they disappeared within an instant.

When they reappeared Filch was in a drunken stupor in a cold stone corridor.

"My name is Rufus Scrimejour for all intents and purposes I'm best described as a policeman that knows witchcraft that takes those who commit crimes to jail." Scrimejour spoke in a soothing tone

Filch gained composure "How long is my term inside going to be?" Filch sobbed

"It's indeterminate, meaning we the Ministry decide when to set you an excellent way to quell a ruckus rebellion which you perpetrated." Spoke Scrimejour in a cold voice

Then Scrimejour locked the barred cell and disappeared with a loud pop.

It had been several years since Filch had begun his sentence in his wizard jail a fate of his own making. Overtime the energetic exuberant idealistic man he once was and a friend too many was all but dead because of the insatiable appetite of this ghostly phantoms that feed upon the emotions leaving them to human husks.

Filches cell door opened revealing a thin old wizard with a grey beard streaked with feeble wisps of auburn he wore a scarlet fez with a gold tassel he wore a set of black robes.

"You're Dumbledore!" Filch exclaimed in a throaty gasp

"Indeed I am Argus I knew your mother Edith she cared for my sister when nobody would," Dumbledore reminisced fondly

"Mammy was a good healer she would be in a right two and eight if she saw me being a common crook." Filch sobbed heartily

"No Argus their is nothing to be ashamed about it my father Percival a once respected metal charmer then postmaster was thrown in here for protecting my sis from troubled youngsters an ethical grey area. I came here with my brother Aberforth he liked dad better as he too was not intellectually minded worked well with hands. I and my dad did not talk as he thought I was snobby." Dumbledore explained calmly

"What has a immensely strong wizard come to see me for?" Filch questioned Dumbledore with a sense of intrigue

"I am here because in my role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. I've convinced the elders to remove your ill informed conviction on the proviso that you come do some community service and you're in luck our caretaker Mr. Pringle has left his post to explore the world, so I'm asking you if you want to uptake the post." Dumbledore spoke calmly

Filch nodded in agreement

Now it had been many years since the formative event had transpired. Filch now bowing his head in respect as the headmaster was laid to rest Filch known to the students and staff alike, as a cantankerous curmudgeonly caretaker known as Argus wept for Dumbledore. The man who gave him a chance and those perceived to be unworthy of wizardry, a chance it was unfortunate for him to die as from today the chances of an enlightened world for witches and wizards grew considerably bleak with Dumbledore's passing marking the passing into a new age of either good or evil whatever it maybe only to be decided by that Potter boy.


End file.
